


O'Lantern

by Ebhenah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Difficult Decisions, Fae Magic, Fear, Haunted Woods, High School AU, Hospital, Injury, Jack O'Lantern Myth, Laith, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, Langstron Gift Exchange 2020, Love at First Sight, M/M, Medical, Memory Issues, Minor Hunk/Pidge | Katie Holt, Misdiagnosis, More tags to follow as story progresses, Panic, Panic Attacks, Secrets, Sleep Walking, Themes of Loss, Will'o Wisp myth, ergot poisoning, fugue state, klance, minor Lance/Allura date, urban legend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28126983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah
Summary: Skeptic Lance takes a dare to spend Halloween night in the famously haunted local woods. Things do not go as planned.Taking that dare causes a level of chaos he would never have been able to predict and changes his life forever.Content warnings: emotional upheaval, medical situations, brief depiction of panic attack, mentions of violence
Relationships: Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Lance's Family (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19
Collections: Langst Halloween Exchange 2020





	O'Lantern

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretly_a_spacaecadet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_spacaecadet/gifts).



> Sooooooo, I was paired with one of my online friends for this exchange, which I was super happy and excited about... but led to my being very, very late to post because I wanted it to be _perfect_... which is, of course, impossible.
> 
> This fic also kind of exploded, in terms of word-count, which didn't help matters.
> 
> Huge, huge shout-out and thanks to the mods of the exchange as well as my giftee for their patience and understanding!
> 
> So, despite the long-past deadline, here is the first part of my fic! I really hope my giftee thinks it is worth the wait!!

To be honest, Lance much preferred trick-or-treating to the weird no man’s land that Halloween was in highschool. He’d been perfectly happy with the idea of taking his brother’s kids house to house and getting a cut of the candy (even if that cut was just the stuff that the kids didn’t like- candy corn and molasses drops weren’t his favorites, but he wasn’t about to turn down free candy!). That had been fine with him. He figured that by the time he got them home and the candy checked and sorted, he’d have just enough time to head over to Hunk’s for a couple of horror movies. 

Pretty decent night, all things considered.

But then he’d made the mistake of mentioning that plan at school and the wrong people had overheard, and before he knew it, his prickly pride and impulsive nature had gotten the better of him and he’d taken the dare.

His Mama always told him he was his own worst enemy.

So now, instead of a cozy night watching movies at his best friend’s with (potentially spiked) homemade butterbeer, pumpkin spice shortbread cookies, and Hunk’s Dad’s famous candy apples to snack on, Lance was trudging through the freaking woods.

The supposedly haunted woods.

The supposedly haunted woods right in the center of his town that he’d successfully managed to avoid for the ten years he’d been living in this dumb place, because… 

Okay, listen.

Lance wasn’t a coward or anything… and he certainly wasn’t afraid of silly ghost stories used to turn a patch of land that was too overgrown and boggy to be worth the cost of clearing for construction into a way to attract tourists to the struggling community. 

Weird tourists.

The kind of tourists that hear stories about a rando ghost luring people into the woods at night with flickering light (aka ignis fatuus, a completely well known and thoroughly understood natural phenomenon), never to be seen again, and think ‘now that’s how I want to spend my hard-earned vacation money!’ instead of heading to a tropical resort like sensible folk.

So, yeah… Lance wasn’t afraid of ghosts. What he was very leery of were more sensible things: poison ivy, wildlife, uncertain and changeable terrain, and… bugs.

Gross.

He really hated bugs.

So, he’d thought it was a no-brainer to avoid the snarl of… well… all of those things that lurked beyond the back gate of his nicely fenced-in yard.

But then… his own pride and big mouth had trumped sense and here he was.

It felt like he’d been walking for an hour, at least, and he still hadn’t found a decent spot to set up camp for the night. The paths were narrow and twisty, made treacherous by the tree roots that got pulled up during the various freezes and thaws throughout the year. The woods were beautiful, in a Guillermo del Toro film kinda way, but they were thick and  _ old _ , so there weren’t exactly a lot of nice clear, flat spots to set up a tent and have a campfire.

Frankly, at this point, he’d probably settle for a patch big enough to spread out a bedroll and just risk getting rained on… if the thought of doing without a fire to keep any curious critters away didn’t make a shiver of fear run down his spine. It was getting cold, too.

This was such a bad plan on so many levels.

Didn’t he mock horror movie characters for this kind of stupid shit?!?

Annnnnnnnd great… Now he was thinking about horror movies!

Peachy.

Stopping in his tracks, he took a moment to gather his wits- closing his eyes and taking several slow, deep breaths. Logically, dumbass ghost-seeking tourists camped out in these woods all the time, so there were  **obviously** places that worked for a campout, even if they were small. Also, very few people  **other** than tourists spent much time in this shitty, boggy, snarl of wilderness, so those campsites would be close to the pitiful excuses for paths, since the only people  **making** the paths were the dumbass tourists on their way to and from their campsites. 

So, all he had to do was follow a path and keep his eyes peeled and sooner or later (and please God, let that be  **sooner** ) he’d find a place to spend the night. He camped all the time, just… you know… in places actually designed for it, with carefully tended plots and lots of people… and usually some place to swim.

Feeling much better about his odds, he opened his eyes again. A tree had fallen across the path up ahead- something that happened pretty often when the weather had been as erratic as it had this year- but it was easy enough to skirt around it. He was careful not to kick any of the small puffball mushrooms he had to cut through. He’d loved kicking them as a kid and watching the greenish-yellow spores burst into a stinky cloud, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to pretend to be a powerful wizard unleashing magical spells at the moment.

Besides, he was too old for that kind of thing.

Maybe on the way out in the morning.

That might… actually be kinda fun.

Just like that, his mood lifted.

It was wild how your mindset could have such an impact on how you perceived things. By the time he made his way around the fallen tree and picked up the trail again the night seemed much more manageable. The greyish darkness of the woods was comfortable instead of ominous, and it even felt  **warmer** somehow. He found himself humming contentedly, and even stowed away his flashlight. It was messing with his night-vision and he did better without it.

Boy was he glad that he’d done that, too- because there was a good chance that he would have missed the little flicker of warm, golden light through the trees if he’d still been using the flashlight.

He felt like such an **idiot**! 

How had it never occurred to him that there were probably several ghost-hunting tourists camping out in these woods on  **Halloween night!** ??! It was sooo obvious! All he had to do was ask to share their fire and set up his little pup tent close by! 

Suddenly, a night in the ‘haunted woods’ at the end of October didn’t seem quite so awful!

He got turned around a couple of times, somehow veering away from the light without really noticing until he spotted it again out of the corner of his eye. He’d had to give up on the muddy, boggy path because it was definitely leading him  **away** from the waiting comfort of the warm fire. Normally, that was a bad idea, but he could see the fire, just up ahead, too close to be any kind of risk.

Finally, he stumbled from the wood into a small clearing. There was a cozy fire burning, being tended by a guy that seemed to be around his age, and a small tent. It was one of the old fashioned ones his grandfather had taught him to use when he was little. 

Heavy oiled canvas tarpaulins made up the tent. One spread over a layer of brush with another tied off to a couple of sturdy trees and the ends lashed together to form the back wall and ‘door flaps’ all neatly pinned to the ground with wooden stakes. It had been forever since he’d seen a tent like that and it filled him with warm memories of backyard camp-outs with his grandfather.

“Hey,” he said, giving the camper an awkward wave. “Nice little campsite you’ve got here. I haven’t been able to find a good spot all night.”

“Hello,” the camper answered, sitting back onto a fallen log Lance hadn’t noticed. He pushed a hand through his dark hair and looked up. Somehow, in the light of the fire, his eyes looked **purple** , which couldn’t be right… even though he was so  **pretty** that purple eyes kind of made sense. “You look cold.”

“I…” Was he cold? He’d been cold earlier. He remembered that, but… it seemed distant now that he was near the fire. “I saw your… the light. I saw the light. Followed it here.”

“You did?” The guy smiled, soft and shy, his head cocking to one side as he watched Lance’s face. He couldn’t help but smile back. He got the impression that smiles from this guy were a rare gift. “Where are you coming from?”

“Ummm… Altea,” he answered, jerking his head back in what he was pretty sure was the direction of the little cookie-cutter house in the Edward-Scissorhands-esque pastel nightmare of a subdivision he’d been living in ever since his Dad took that job at the nearby Garrison. It wasn’t  **home,** not like Cuba was, but it was where he lived. “You? Are you a local or a tourist?”

“A tourist?” He seemed confused, shaking his head, that dark hair tossing back and forth adorably, “no, I’m local. Born and raised in Marmora.”

“Marmora?” Lance repeated, trying to place the name. It seemed so familiar, and yet. The guy hummed his agreement, nodding again. “Oh! Yeah… Marmora!” How could he have forgotten about the tiny town nestled on the other side of the woods?

“Mmhmm… Pop sent me to get supplies. Faster to cut through the woods…” He trailed off, blinking up at Lance, “but it was later than I thought. You are welcome to join me.”

“Thanks, man, I really appreciate that!” He dropped his old battered leather backpack on the ground beside the log and took a seat next to his host. The fire was warm and inviting, and for once the smoke didn’t seem to follow his face wherever he moved. A low, dragged out sigh of contentment escaped him and the guy beside him laughed in a quiet huff.

“Nothing quite like getting off your feet after trekking through the wood, is there?”

“No sir,” he answered, smiling like a cheshire cat. Quiet happiness bubbled through him and he stretched his feet out toward the fire. “There definitely is nothing else quite like it.”

“It’ll be nice to get back home, but I’m glad for the company tonight. Was that you I heard singing?”

“Singing?” He knew he’d been humming. Some old tune his mother sang when she was knitting. It always got stuck in his head… but he wasn’t sure he knew all the words. Maybe he’d just been mumbling along to the tune? “Was I singing? I don’t always notice.”

“I thought it was you… could be my ears playing tricks on me. Sounded like Scarborough Fair? That’s one of my favorites.” 

He looked so disappointed. Something in Lance’s chest lurched and suddenly he was tripping all over himself to try and coax out another one of those soft smiles. “If you know the words, I can probably keep up. We can sing it together. I think it works better that way anyhow…”

“Really?” His companion asked, firelight dancing in those eyes (that were definitely purple- God, he was so, so, so  **pretty** !) “You’d do that for me? Feels like forever since I heard it!”

“Of course,” Lance replied, shifting closer and bumping their shoulders together, “that’s like a classic campfire activity. We can sing all night if you want.”

They didn’t sing **all** night, of course. They sang until thirst made their voices hoarse, at which point the dark-haired boy had unpacked a basket, revealing sticky honey cakes wrapped in those waxed cloth food wraps people sold at the Farmer’s Market on weekends, and an old-fashioned drinking skin filled with mead.

Lance had had the occasional beer, or sip of wine for toasts, and one unfortunate encounter with a half-finished bottle of peppermint schnapps he’d found in the back of a kitchen cupboard, long-forgotten, and smuggled out to a party. So, he’d had booze before, but not much and not often and the shared drink went straight to his head.

Which was kinda funny, because  **straight** wasn’t anywhere close to where his head was at the time. The buzz made him affectionate, bolstered his confidence until he was cuddled up close to his companion, head resting on his shoulder, their fingers tangling and untangling over and over. He’d never reacted like this to a guy before. He’d never reacted like this to  **anyone** before.

They took turns telling ghost stories- because that was what you did at a campfire. They taught each other folk songs and told jokes. When the fire was dying down, and drowsiness made his words slur more than the mead had, they shared a sleepy kiss that felt like coming home.    
  


“Lance,” he mumbled, snuggling into the woolen blanket thing the pretty boy with the dark hair and the purple eyes had wrapped around them both sometime in the wee hours. “M’name’s Lance.”

“I’m Keith,” had been the equally sleepy reply, “come back? Tomorrow night? Meet me here?”

“Mmmhmm… definitely…” He didn’t want to sleep! He wanted to keep talking, singing, laughing. He never wanted this night to end!

“Promise?” Calloused fingers stroked his face softly and he nodded, earning himself a soft little huff of laughter. “You’re so warm…”

“Cozy,” he agreed, not even able to pry his eyes open anymore. “T’mrow… here… pr’mizz… y’have m’word.”

* * *

It was noon when a neighbor spotted Lance walking aimlessly through the marshland that edged up against the woods in the little valley right before the river that cut through town. His face and hands were scratched up, but aside from a cut through his eyebrow that needed a couple of stitches, they were minor. More of an issue was the sprained ankle he couldn’t remember injuring, and the fact that when he tried to retrace his steps there was a strange **haze** in his mind. It was like trying to grasp the last tendrils of a dream.

There was… a dare. He remembered that. And he remembered looking for a place to set up camp.

He could smell woodsmoke on his clothes, so it seemed obvious that he found a site… but his gear was missing and all the details seemed to evaporate whenever he tried to put them into words.

Every time he blinked, though… he could hear a soft singing voice, and feel the warmth of another body pressed against him. His lips tingled with the memory of a kiss, and his fingers held the ghostly sensation of threading through long hair that he was pretty sure was as deep and soft as black velvet.

_ “Promise?” _

“Huh?” he jumped, making the nurse squeak.

“Who should we call to collect you?” The nurse said patiently, “you said the numbers were out of date?”

“Right, Mama changed jobs… ummm… it’s in my phone, hang on.” Shaking his head, and careful of the iv they insisted he needed because he was dehydrated, he dug his phone out of the pocket of the jeans that sat on the chair beside him and pulled up the contact info for his mother. He’d prefer to call Luis, but the staff insisted that it had to be a parent.

She patted his hand in the way of nurses and jotted the information down, “alright sweetie, you just lie down and rest. We’ll give your mother a call and hopefully once the bloodwork comes back we can send you home.”

“Okay,” he answered, feeling oddly calm about the whole situation. It was fine. He was fine. If anything  **bad** had happened, he would definitely remember. Instead, the strange fog in his mind just felt… warm… and comforting. He snuggled into the pillow he’d fashioned out of the woolen blanket he’d been wrapped in when he’d been found, breathing in the scent of smoke and woods and  **something else** that clung to it. 

Sleep came quickly and he dreamed of singing in firelight. Purple eyes. A soft smile.

_ “Come back…” _

_ “Meet me here…” _

“Keith?” He mumbled as he sat up, taking a second to realize where he was.

“Lance! You’re awake! Oh, mijo,” his mother cooed, brushing the hair back from his face and pressing him back into the bed, “just stay lying down… you are probably miserable.”

He  **wasn’t,** but his mother also wasn’t furious like he’d anticipated, so he was just going to do what she said and thank his lucky stars she wasn’t pissed at him for being a prideful idiot and taking a dare to spend the night alone in the woods… and then losing all his gear.

**Shit** _ … _ he’d lost all his gear.

Yup… not going to speak up and ruin the sympathy his mother was showing him.

He might be kinda fuzzy headed today, but he wasn’t a total idiot.

Most of his afternoon was spent drifting in and out of sleep. The soft, drowsy confusion gradually retreated and he felt more like himself every time he woke. Every so often, he could hear his mother, and later his father, as well, speaking softly with the doctors.

Around the time they brought him a tray of broth and crackers, with a bowl of pink jello jiggling ominously under a plastic dome, his wakefulness coincided with the doctor’s visit. He had a hard time tracking what exactly they said, but he caught a few phrases: fugue state, traces of ergot in his blood, continued fluids, overnight observation… He tried to focus, he really did, but it kind of felt like the words were drifting away. Both his parents nodded along with the doctor, turning to smile reassuringly to him every few words, though, so he just trusted that everything made sense.

The broth was bland, the crackers… well, they were dry saltines, so… pretty bland, too. The jello was just a hard no. He’d been six when he disobeyed his folks and watched The Blob by himself in the middle of night… and as much as he loved pink lemonade as a flavor, he couldn’t touch the pink gloopy stuff since.

He was allowed to have as much ginger ale as he wanted, but no cola, coffee, or tea for some reason.

He finished the bland meal, despite a craving for warm, sweet, sticky pastries and a rich, heady drink he couldn’t name, and his mother fussed over him for a bit, trying to coax him into conversation.

He tried to tell her that he was fine, just tired, but her smile when she nodded at him was sad. Finally, his father convinced her to go home and get some rest, promising to stay with him on the foldout chair in his room.

Mostly, he just wanted to sleep- especially once they shot some kind of medication into his iv line.

* * *

He had to  **go!**

He had to… had to…

He’d promised!

But no matter how much he screamed and thrashed, **they** weren’t letting him leave.

_ “Come back?” _

He was trying!

He was trying so hard…

“Lance! Stop!” Strong fingers dug into his cheeks and held him in place. Through his tears, he could make out a familiar face…

Not the right one, though.

Not  **Keith** …

“Mijo, you have to stop! You’re hurting yourself!”

“He’s  **waiting!** ” Lance cried, flinching away from the sting that was spreading through his body, “I promised… I promised!”

Keith was waiting for him…

* * *

It had taken a significant amount of wheedling to convince the doctor that he could go home. He  **got** why they were worried- he’d woken up with cottonmouth, a whole bunch of fresh bruises, and soft restraints holding him to the bed. His father had explained that around midnight he’d had some kind of night terror.

The doctors couldn’t understand why such a low level of ergot was causing so many symptoms, but he’d been docile and alert all day, with medications and fluids helping to flush the toxin from his system. Once he’d managed to eat a full dinner (more bland broth with saltines, but also a plate of mushy steamed veggies and some dry-ass grilled chicken breast) and keep it down (unlike breakfast), the doctor conceded that he could go home.

His parents were given a list of instructions and a couple of prescriptions for him, including a sedative to help stave off weirdly realistic dreams about a campfire and a boy with purple eyes. Then there was a blur as paperwork was signed and he was given clean clothes to wear. He couldn’t really remember getting  _ to _ the car, just snapping at his mother when she tried to take the blanket that smelled like wood smoke and leather and… ( _ Keith) _ ... something he couldn’t name.

Nestled into the backseat, wrapped up in the scratchy-soft wool, he watched the sun dip below the horizon.

“... _ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme… Remember me to one who lives there…” _

“Feeling better, mijo?” his mother asked from the front seat.

“Hmmm?” Lance shifted, lifting his head from where he’d rested it against the window.

“It sounded like you were singing,” explained his father.

“Oh.” His brow furrowed.  **Had** he been singing? He could taste honey-cakes and feel the rise and fall of another chest pressed against his own. A soft, shy smile greeted him every time his eyes fell shut. Purple eyes at the edges of his vision. “Maybe… I dunno…”

“Are you sure you are ready to come home?” She sounded so worried. “You don’t seem like yourself…”

“The doctor said it might be a few days, mi alma… don’t fuss over him. You just rest, Lance… that’s the best thing you can do.”

“I can rest just as well at home as I can in the hospital, mama,” he assured her, “better, even. I don’t need to be at the hospital.”

She made a little worried noise but didn’t press and Lance slipped back into the hazy daydream that seemed to be lurking behind his eyelids. 

_ “Nothing quite like getting off your feet after trekking through the wood, is there?” _

“What?” He felt strange. Too warm and uncomfortable, jostling awkwardly.

“Shhh, Lance… I was just telling your mother I’d carry you to bed. Go back to sleep, mijo.”

“Oh,” he yawned, resting his head against his father’s shoulder and humming softly to himself.

* * *

“What the beejesus happened to you?” demanded Pidge when he arrived at school the next day. “You went radio silent on Halloween and when I finally called your  **house** , on your  **landline** , your sister told me you were in the hospital?!?! What the actual fuck, McClain??” Reaching up, she thunked her fist into his shoulder with a surprising amount of strength. He flinched, still sore from everything and her face crumpled, “shit! I didn’t even think! Did I hurt you?”

“S’fine,” he mumbled, cheeks coloring, “just achey.”

“We were sooooo worried,” Hunk said, shooting a disappointed scowl at her, “what happened? Did you get hurt in the woods?”

“I am going to kick Rolo’s ass,” growled Pidge. Honestly, he didn’t doubt that she’d do just that… and the image of tiny Pidge beating the crap out of the captain of the basketball team made him laugh out loud.

“Kinda? I guess I ate something I shouldn’t have? I don’t really remember much. Sprained ankle, a few cuts and scrapes… and… umm… mild ergot poisoning.” 

“Oooh, like the Salem Witch Trials! Cool!”

“No! Not cool! Not cool, at all!” Hunk looked scandalized, “what is  **wrong** with you?!?! There’s nothing ‘cool’ about that, Pidge!”

“Sure there is,” she argued, “he was ghost hunting, on  **Halloween** and ended up with the same thing that probably triggered the most famous witch hunt on North American soil! It’s a wild coincidence… that’s cool. Weird, too! Hardly anybody gets erogtism anymore… and we haven’t had the right kind of weather to affect the rye grains like that in years.”

“How do you know so much about this?” Lance asked, struggling with his locker and the crutches he had to use for a couple of weeks.

“My Mom,” Pidge replied, “or at least, that’s how I know about ergot. She is a botanist. Did a whole study about ergot resistant strains of rye. The witch hunt stuff I know because I grew up in a shitty little town with ‘haunted woods’. It’s hard to avoid all the bullshit ‘woo’ theories. I like debunking the tourists.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “that tracks.”

“Lights in the woods are a well-documented natural phenomenon,” she muttered, “it’s not even  **new** information.”

He laughed again, but it was distracted. A memory tugged at him. Light through the trees… leaving the path…

_ “Was that you I heard singing?” _

“Huh?” He’d missed conversation and both of his friends were staring expectantly at him.

“Iverson is going to lose his shit if we are late for class again,” Hunk coaxed, “you need some help? Can’t be easy to lug books on crutches.”

He would have argued, but he knew that look in Hunk’s eyes. He was blaming himself for not being there, even though Lance had told him to stay home. Nodding, he passed his binder and textbooks to his best friend, “thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I swear to God, if Rolo is an ass about this,” Pidge muttered, curling into Hunk’s side as they walked. Hunk dipped down to press a kiss to the top of her head, which only seemed to irritate her more. “Nononono! Hunk, don’t try to calm me down! I  **will** kick his ass! I can do it!”

“No one is doubting that,” Lance answered, “I think Hunk probably just doesn’t want his girlfriend getting expelled for fighting.”

“They wouldn’t  **expel** me,” she snorted, “do you realize what my test scores do for this school in terms of funding?? Mayyyyyybe, I’d get a suspension. Even that’s unlikely… it definitely wouldn’t be long. Two days, tops. Two days is worth kicking his ass.”

“Pidge, I’m begging you… please, please, please do not test that theory,” pleaded Hunk. “I’m sure between the two of us, we can come up with something better… something that can’t be traced back to either of us.”

“Ooooh… I love how your mind works! We can brainstorm tonight!”

“You do understand that this is my own damn fault, right?” Lance tried.

The resulting glare from Pidge shut him up pretty quick, though. He’d known her long enough to recognize that glint in her eye. 

It was true though. He was the one that took the dare. He was the one that decided to follow through on it by himself. He was the one that got… lost…

He  **had** gotten lost, right?

That didn’t feel right… but the doctors said he must have been wandering all night… and they’d know.

Wouldn’t they?

_ “... glad for the company…” _

“Dude? Are you okay? You look like you are going to black out or something… Hey! Garrett! Your friend needs help!” Lance barely registered that the person gripping his shoulder was talking to him before everything went black.

* * *

They sent him home from school, with a note from the nurse ‘strongly encouraging’ that they check in with the doctor at the hospital. So, he’d spent a few hours sitting in the ER again, only to discover that the problem was low blood sugar because he hadn’t been able to stomach the oatmeal his mother had served for breakfast.

That was embarrassing.

It sent his mother into a tizzy, too. She’d been a total nag about making sure he ate and drank water because of it.

The only time he got a break from it was when he was at Hunk’s place. No one ever went hungry at Hunk’s house. It was impossible.

Hunk’s family ran the best diner in the city, and his mother had always been convinced that Lance was ‘too skinny’ and insisted on feeding him huge plates of his favorites- shepherd’s pie, mac and cheese, lasagna, hearty clubhouse sandwiches on homemade sourdough bread… not to mention the pies and cupcakes and cookies. 

Even so, he mostly just picked at the food. He was hungry, but nothing was all that appetizing and even his favorites seemed to lose their appeal after a few bites.

Hunk’s home was the one and only place that Lance’s Mama didn’t worry about how much he was eating… because Hunk’s Mom did it for her.

It took a few weeks before things started to feel  **normal** and everyone stopped hovering, convinced he was going to faint again. 

It was such a relief that there was no damn way that Lance was going to say a peep about how often he realized that he honestly had no idea what had been going on around him for… a lot longer than a few minutes. He couldn’t even really say he was  **daydreaming** because he had no idea what he’d been thinking about. He just… randomly zoned out sometimes.

And there was absolutely no way he was going to breathe a word about how, as often as not, morning found him sneaking back into the house at the crack of dawn because he’d woken up in the woods, wrapped in that blanket he’d been found in, the taste of honey and something unidentifiable on his tongue.

* * *

Lance hated the winter. 

He always had.

It wasn’t even the snow and ice that bothered him… it was how  **dim** everything seemed to be.

Winter rolled in and somehow everything seemed so grey and dull. It dragged his mood down and his energy levels plummeted. His usual tactic to deal with it was to pack his schedule with as many fun activities as his chores and school allowed. Currently, he didn’t have all his usual options- he’d really freaked his folks out and, honestly, most of his usual clubs felt like way too much work and had a hard time holding his interest. The doctor assured him it was temporary and nothing to worry about. He  **was** recovering from whatever had happened on Halloween- just more slowly than they’d expected. 

With fewer demands on his social calendar and his lingering fatigue, his friends stepped up to make sure he wasn’t a complete shut-in. Homework became a group activity at Hunk’s or Pidge’s place. Often, Pidge’s friend Allura joined them, which was usually the highlight of his week. He’d been crushing on her for over a year, and lately his flirting was received with an eyeroll and an affectionate laugh, instead of her shooting him down. Which was… definitely progress. 

Slow progress, but progress all the same.

“I heard a rumor that you’ve been driving poor Hunk crazy,” Allura whispered to him one evening during a study session, “something about a pastry he’s never heard of?”

“I told him to give up on that,” he muttered, cheeks coloring, “I probably dreamt it or something! I mean, seriously? What are the odds of a baked good that Hunk, of all people, has never heard of even being a real thing? Not good. The odds are not good that it’s a real thing.”

“Where did you have it?” she asked, one pale eyebrow arching inquisitively, “I’ve travelled all over the world, maybe I’ve heard of it.”

“Ummm… I don’t really remember. Camping, maybe? It’s more like… I can kind of  **taste it** … but I don’t know when I had it…” He rubbed at his face, frustrated. Lately, it felt like there was so much that was… just out of reach. Memories that danced at the edges of his awareness, beckoning for his attention but that floated away into vague hazy impressions whenever he tried to focus on them. “It’s like… dense, but in a good way… and sticky with honey, but kind of buttery and… I dunno…  **nutty** I guess?”

“That sounds delicious,” Allura sighed, “if you two figure it out, I definitely want to taste it.”

“Sounds kinda like the traveller’s cakes they used to sell at the ren faire by my Nonna’s house,” Pidge commented. “I’ll see if Nonna has a source for a recipe.”

“Traveller’s cakes! Of course!! Ohmigod, I love you, Pidge! Traveller’s cakes!Why didn’t I think of that??” Hunk hopped up and headed to the overcrowded bookshelves, digging through the precarious stacks of old cookbooks. “I’m pretty sure we have something…”

“What are traveller’s cakes?” 

“They’re like… a cross between granola bars and ration packs.” Hunk didn’t even glance their way as he answered. “Usually some kind of nut meal, maybe some dried fruit, sweetened with honey. Portable protein and carbs that will keep for a few days in a backpack. Sometimes you can break them up in boiling water with some oats to make a porridge. It’s one of those things like bread- at one point pretty much every family had their own recipe and it was so common that they didn’t even make it into cookbooks…”

“Oh no,” groaned Pidge playfully, “how did we prompt a history of food lesson?!?”

“Ah-ha! Here! I knew we had something… this is… ummm… like a collection of Indigenous recipes and recipes from settlers. I’ll bet I can find something in here!”

“Your family is so random,” Pidge laughed, “why do you even have that?”

“My sister did a class in college on the impact of European colonists on the dietary traditions of indigenous peoples,” answered Hunk with a shrug, “and Dad ‘borrowed’ the recipes.”

“That sounds fascinating.” Allura smiled, “I cannot wait to get to College and choose the classes that I  **want** to take! No more English classes for me! Maybe the red door was red because the author just picked it at random! Did you ever think of  **that** Ms. Sonda? Nooooo… I’ll bet you didn’t! Not everything has some deep narrative purpose!”

“Failed your English quiz?” guessed Lance, grinning at how agitated Allura was getting.

“Forty- **eight** percent!” she fumed, “who even does that to someone?!?! Now I have to do  **extra credit** to pull my mark up!”

“I can help,” he offered, “it’s one of my best classes. Do you know what you are doing yet?”

“I have to write a paper… with an emphasis on symbolism and foreshadowing. Ugh! It’s soo… subjective! I like math, physics, chemistry… where things are either right or wrong. None of this wishy washy assumption stuff!”

“Awww poor, brilliant Allura,” Lance teased playfully, “with the  **one** class she doesn’t ace effortlessly. Don’t worry, Princess, I got you. Pick a book you’ve already read and I’ll help you write a kickass paper.”

“Lance!” she cried happily, her accent making the ‘a’ in his name sound like an ‘o’. “You are a life-saver!” With a smile so big and bright it made her face seem like it was glowing, Allura launched herself at him, hugging him tight. “What would I do without you?”

“Fail english class, I guess,” he mumbled, not sure how to react. Did he hug her back? Laugh? She was so warm and solid against him… and she smelled so good- like flowers and vanilla, with hints of some kind of citrusy shampoo.

She hung on long enough that he decided it would be  **weird** if he didn’t hug her back, so he settled his arms around her and squeezed softly.

“Hey,” she whispered right into his ear, while still hugging him… that  **had** to be progress, right?? “I was supposed to be out of town for the Semi-Formal, but plans changed. You wanna go with me?”

Progress!

Definite, without a doubt,  **progress** … unless…

“You mean, like, as friends?” he found himself saying out loud.

“Ummm… if you want,” she answered, tipping her head back so she could meet his eyes. She bit her lip and scrunched her nose- which was adorable and sexy at the same time somehow- and he could swear she was blushing. “But… it doesn’t hafta be just as friends…”

He should be overjoyed. Should be ready to burst out of his skin with happiness. He’d been crushing on Allura since the day he’d met her! She was his dreamgirl!

Smart. Kind. Playful. Funny. Determined. Confident. Beautiful.

Allura Royal was as close to the perfect woman as he could imagine actually existing.

This **should** feel like a dream come true.

It had to be shock that was preventing that surge of joy and excitement he’d always imagined he’d feel if he managed to land a date with her. There was no other explanation for it.

“I’d love to take you to the dance, Allura,” he answered, smiling brightly as he lifted his hand to tuck a stray lock of her pale hair behind her ear. “It’s a date.”

“It’s about time!” crowed Pidge, tossing a crumpled up sheet of paper at them, “can we get back to studying now? Lance has a streetlights curfew like a five year old nowadays!”

“I do not!” he argued, “they just don’t want me driving in full dark right now! As long as I’m getting a ride with someone else it’s fine! You know that.”

“Still, no studying is happening with Hunk scouring recipe books and you two making dates. I have a history test coming up! Allura failed her english quiz… and how did that bio lab go for you, Lance?”

“Ugh… c minus… okay, okay… I concede. You have a point.” Sighing, he untangled himself from Allura. “We need to get back to studying.”

* * *

School was tough. It was hard to focus. He’d always struggled with that, but it certainly didn’t help that since Halloween he was dealing with a lingering fatigue and a new tendency for his mind to just… kind of  **float away** . 

It wasn’t even really daydreaming, or getting lost in thought. 

He just… sort of became aware of surroundings and had no idea where his head had been or how long he’d been out of it.

**“McClain!”**

“Hmmm? ACK!” Iverson’s face was barely inches from his own, and he looked  **pissed** . Shiiiiiiit. “Sorry, Sir! I just… umm… uh… Sorry…”

Iverson sighed, shaking his head, “I understand that the dance is tonight and you probably have a big date and feel like you are the lead in some high school rom com, McClain… but you still actually have to  **learn** at school!”

“No, Sir… I mean… Yes, Sir? I mean… I’m here to learn, Sir. Sorry for… uh… just… I’m sorry.” God, he wished the ground would open up and swallow him already. Iverson just kept looking angrier and angrier. The guy already had it out for him! If he got in shit at school (again) his parents were going to lose it.

“So you’ve said.” The teacher huffed, finally standing upright again. “Let’s try this again- which communities amalgamated to form Altea?” 

Civic history was supposed to be a bird course to pad his gpa… apparently, no one told Iverson that, though!

The brusque man took the history of their shitty town very seriously and seemed angry that other people didn’t… or maybe he thought it was as stupid as everyone else did but figured if he had to teach it he was going to make sure  **everyone** suffered for it.

“Umm… uh… okay. I know this… Altea, Oriande…. Daibazaal?” By the time he finished his answer, he was practically cringing. He hated being put on the spot like that. But he was pretty sure that was right. Altea, bordered in the south by the ‘haunted’ woods, had grown more rapidly than the other smaller settlements scattered in the valleys of the mountain range and had eventually butted up against its neighbors. Oriande to the east and Daibazaal to the west had amalgamated right before the minor boom that the Garrison brought with it. Now they were technically a city, but one small enough that everyone just called it a town, and the haunted woods were completely surrounded on all sides. 

_ “...I’m local. Born and raised in Marmora.” _

_ “...Marmora.” _

_ “...Marmora.” _

“Marmora…” He knew that name… somehow.

“What was that, McClain?” Iverson asked, sounding a million miles away.

“And… Marmora?” he whispered, “through the woods… tiny town to the South, right?”

“Where did you hear that?” 

“I dunno… but I’m right, right? Altea absorbed it, right? Oriande to the east, Daibazaal to the west, and Marmora was south of the woods…”

“It… was…” Iverson answered, his head cocked to one side like a confused puppy. “But it never officially amalgamated. Marmora was-”

The bell rang before Iverson could finish his sentence and the clatter of the students stowing their shit startled Lance enough that he kind of lost the plot a little. “Umm… I’ve got a quiz in my next class, Sir…”

“Of course… class dismissed!”

Pidge hip checked him the second he cleared the classroom door, making him stumble a little. “Hey! Watch it!”

“Geez, sorry! I keep forgetting that you are like floating on air with your head in the clouds because you’re in loooooove now,” she teased. “Focus, loverboy… the dance is  **tonight** , it’s not like you have to wait forever.”

“Wait. What? What are you talking about?” Pidge was one of his best friends, but he would never claim that she made sense to him.

“You being all swoony over Allura,  **duh** ,” she rolled her eyes, “but I don’t want to talk about that… I want to talk about you messing with Iverson’s head! That was awesome! How did you know to bring up Marmora? He’s like… legit  **obsessed** with that place!”

“I am so confused,” he muttered, barely managing to dodge a pair of roughhousing jocks in the crowded hallway.

“Iverson… he’s got a total brain hard-on for Marmora and all that spooky shit! Dad fills me in on all the staff room gossip. Iverson’s writing a quiznaking  **book** about Marmora, I guess he won’t shut up about his research when he’s not actively teaching.”

“I… have no idea what you are talking about, Pidge.”

“How have you lived here so long and managed to stay soooo clueless about all the local spooky stories?”

“Because they are nonsense?” he pointed out, “I don’t have your unholy need to debunk absolutely everything, Pidge. I know it’s nonsense, so I ignore all the bullshit as much as possible. It’s a lot less stressful. You might want to give it a shot… take a break from raging at spook-hunters on the town’s reddit. Your blood pressure would thank-you.”

“You know what? You can-” She was interrupted by her own squeal as Hunk scooped her up into a hug. “I almost decked you!!”

“But you didn’t,” he laughed good-naturedly, “so we’re cool.”

“One of these days, I’m going to break your nose when you scare me like that!”

“Nah… you’re getting used to it. You didn’t even take a swing that time.”

“You guys are such a weird couple,” muttered Lance, but he was smiling… because it was true. They  **were** a weird couple, but somehow they were also  **perfect** for each other and he got such a kick out of their fake-squabbles. 

“I swear, Hunk… if you call me cute-”

“-I would never! You’re too fierce to be cute!”

“Annnnnd they have completely forgotten I’m here… I gotta get to class… got a quiz… okay… I’m talking to no one… bye guys…”

* * *

He still wasn’t allowed to drive after dark, and his mother went a bit overboard on both the fussing and the pictures of him ‘all dressed up and so handsome!’, but it was fine. Allura had her own car and was picking him up before they swung by to collect Hunk and Pidge. 

Turns out, Lance’s Mama wasn’t the only one who insisted on a billion pictures. It took  **forever** to make it to the school. All the hustle and bustle helped to stave off the drowsy haze he spent so many evenings in lately, so that was a definite upside. To be fair, they all seemed to clean up well.

For once, he’d let his hair dry naturally instead of fighting with it to just fucking  **behave** , and he was kinda feelin’ the wild edge to the curls, to be honest. Plus, he liked the way he looked in his dress pants and black button down, and even the silver tie he wore was more comfortable than he expected. All things considered, he looked damn good.

Hunk had actually shed his trademark headband and slicked his hair out of his face with a bit of product and even though Pidge had outright refused to wear a  **dress,** she looked awesome in wide-legged pants and a cropped vest over a high-necked blouse and cravat combo that she called ‘Katherine Hepborn chic’. 

She and Hunk definitely managed to nail a kind of ‘Old Hollywood’ feel to their outfits.

Allura, unsurprisingly, looked utterly breathtaking in a dress that seemed to float around her, all soft, shimmery fabric in super pale pinks and blues. It contrasted gorgeously against her brown skin and she’d braided little shimmering strands of ribbon or something into the intricate cornrows that created a mohawk out of her long hair. 

And when they got to the dance and the colored lights bounced off the dress and the hair?

She didn’t quite look real.

They staked out a decent spot to hang out for the night. Hunk insisted on finding a spot with chairs. He claimed it was because the girls were in uncomfortable shoes, but Lance could see the worry in his eyes whenever he looked at him. He thought Lance would need a spot to rest and was protecting his pride. 

God bless, Hunk. Seriously.

But that didn’t mean that Lance wasn’t going to try his damndest to prove to his bestie that the worry was unfounded.

Lance  **loved** dances!

He was fine.

He was going to kill it. 

Lance McClain, King of the Prom.

… except, not the  **prom** prom… just the winter Semi-Formal.

It was just a figure of speech.

He wasn’t so distracted that he thought they were going to prom.

Whatever.

Point was: he looked good, he had a gorgeous date, he was with his friends, and he loved dances. It was going to be a stellar night!

And it was…

Until it wasn’t.

They danced and laughed and had a great time, but Lance could feel himself… drifting… as the night went on.

It was hard to keep track of the conversation, especially in the noise and flashing lights.

His focus was shot, and he had to ask Allura to repeat herself wayyy too many times, even when they’d been slow dancing with no one else taking part in the conversation.

After a couple of hours, he got… shaky.

Like, literally shaky.

Fine tremors shook his arms and made his knees feel like jelly. So, despite his determination to assuage Hunk’s worry, he ended up genuinely needing those chairs… and the snacks Pidge had smuggled into the dance in her purse for him… **and** a (caffeine-free) sports drink.

Allura perched in the chair next to his, deliberately blocking the forbidden ‘outside food and drink’ from the nosy eyes of the chaperones. It’s not like it was booze or pot brownies, but ‘rules are rules’ and all that garbage.

Warm fingers brushed against his temple, bringing his attention back to the beautiful face inches from his own.

“Are you  **sure** you are well enough to be here, Lance?” Allura asked, worry creasing her brow. “I won’t be upset or slighted if you need to leave. Your well-being is important to me. We can go if you are feeling poorly- I don’t mind.”

“No!” he protested, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. “I don’t want to leave,” he insisted through the odd wave of dizziness that swamped him. “I’m having fun! But… if I’m ruining your night…”

“Of course you aren’t, silly,” she answered with a fond smile, “I quite enjoy your company.”

“I like hanging out with you, too,” admitted Lance. “So, we stay. I’m sure I’ll be fine now that I’ve eaten and stuff.”

“Are you absolutely certain? You do seem tired… you kind of… get lost in your thoughts or something…”

“I’m fine Allura. Promise.” Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckle and shot her a smile he hoped was reassuring. He  **was** having fun-he just had the nagging sense that there was something he’d forgotten.

_ “Come back?” _

_ “Promise?” _

_ “You’re so warm…” _

* * *

His head hurt.

His head hurt and his throat was raw… and he just  **ached** everywhere.

God, he felt like he’d wrestled a bear or something!

Groaning, he pulled the bedding over his head to block out the light and rolled over- only to topple onto the floor with a thud.

“Lance!” Hunk’s voice cut through the last wisps of already forgotten dreams, making him bolt upright.

“He’s awake? He’s awake!” Pidge cried. He barely managed to blink his eyes open before he spotted her barrelling toward him. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? We- I mean,  **Hunk** was super worried about you! I have sooo many questions!”

“Pidgey, give him a minute, geez!” With his back to him, Hunk stepped between Lance and the bullet that Pidge had somehow transformed into, holding out his arms as a kind of barrier. “He’s probably got a splitting headache.”

“Whuh…”

“But! Questions! So many questions!” 

“ **What’s going on?!?!”** he yelled, startling them both. 

“What do you remember?” countered Pidge, ducking under Hunk’s arm.

Hunk sighed her name and shook his head, dropping his arms as he turned to face Lance. “How are you feeling this morning? I can get you some pain meds…”

Lance couldn’t even manage to  **think** about the answer to that, because as sore as he was, that was all forgotten when he saw his friend. “What happened to your face??” Several long scratches marred Hunk’s dark skin, and his eye was purple and swollen.

“He doesn’t remember? Oh no! Hunk! He doesn’t  **remember** !”

“Oh my God,” he breathed, realisation washing over him. “I  **don’t** remember! We were at the dance… I was eating smuggled snacks… and then… here…  **Why** am I here and not at home? And what happened to your  **face?!?** ”

“You did, jackass,” muttered Pidge, reaching over to punch his shoulder. “You just… up and walked out of the dance without a word and when Hunk caught up to you, you went… apeshit.”

“Pidge…”

“ **I** did that? Really?!?! Hunk? Tell me she’s just messing with my head.”

Hunk shifted his weight and let out a huff of air, looking anywhere but at Lance as he rubbed at the back of his head. “Uh… I wish I could, buddy… But, listen! It’s not your fault! You were… really out of it. We did some… you know… research and stuff and it’s like… a  **thing** . Like a legit,  **known thing** for people with ergot poisoning! It’s called a fugue state. Not your fault. Seriously. I know you’d never-”

“I would  **never** ! No. No.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “No! You are my  **best friend.** You were the only person who made life in this place tolerable for  **years** after I moved here. There’s no way I would ever,  **ever** hurt you!”

“And yet…” muttered Pidge.

“Stop it… we’ve already talked about this…”

“Yeah, I know… but facts are facts. You’ve got a shiner. He’s got bruised knuckles from giving you the shiner. Whether he was in his right mind at the time or not doesn’t change that!”

“Can  **someone** please explain what’s going on??” It was hard to breathe all of a sudden, and his chest felt tight. He’d hurt Hunk?  **Hunk?!?!**

He’d hurt his best friend?

And he couldn’t even remember it??

Did the gap in his memory mean he had to go back to the hospital?

Was he…  **dangerous** , now?

Oh God… were they going to lock him away? Did they even still do that?

“Woah!” Small hands grabbed his own, squeezing with a surprising amount of strength and his small friend perched on the edge of the couch, planting herself directly in his line of sight. “Woah, woah, woah…. Lance… listen… you’ve got to slow down your breathing, okay?” Pidge’s voice was firm and steady, and she nodded along to her own words, “you’re panicking. Everything’s okay. We’ll explain it all… you just need to calm down, okay? You’re safe here. It’s just us.”

“Yeah, Lance,” Hunk echoed, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “I know this is probably scary for you but I’m  **fine** , really… and nobody is mad. Alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It took a hot minute, but he was able to get his breathing to calm down enough that the sparkles at the edge of his vision faded out. Once that happened, his friends filled him in. 

Slowly, gently, they told him about how, in the midst of a conversation with Allura, he’d simply turned and walked out of the dance.

They told him about his insistence that he had to get back to the woods. How agitated and out of it he’d been.

They explained that Allura, frightened and in tears, had promised to take him to the woods if he’d just, please, get into the warm car rather than walk alone in the dark of a December night.

He stared at them, stunned, as they told him about his rambling, and how he’d gotten violent any time they tried to turn him away from the woods. 

Hot, frightened tears spilled over his cheeks when he heard how they’d searched with him, for hours, in dressy clothes meant for indoor celebration, in the dark, cold woods, for a campsite they’d never found. 

Not even when he insisted that he knew exactly where it was and how to get there.

“Wh-where’s Allura?” he finally managed to ask, scared she’d been hurt, mortified that he’d ruined their date, spoiled the dance for her.

Pidge and Hunk exchanged a glance that carried so much even Lance could feel the weight of everything they  **didn’t** say.

“Allura is…” began Hunk.

“She went home,” Pidge added, “after… you know… everything… she said she needed some space.”

“Plus, she didn’t want to worry Coran!” Hunk insisted, like that would make him feel less awful somehow. Lance knew that’s what he was aiming for, but the attempt fell flat. “She’s not mad at you, Lance. She knows you… uh… weren’t  **yourself** last night.”

“I’d still give her some time, though. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

“Did I… oh God! I didn’t  **hurt her** , did I? You said I got violent… oh no! Nononono, please, please tell me I didn’t  **hit** Allura!”

“What!?! Oh, Lance,” Hunk shook his head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Buddy, no. Nothing like that!”

“Wellll… nothing physical, anyway,” sighed Pidge which led to a warning hiss from Hunk and a fatalistic shrug from her before continuing, “but you said some stuff that probably hurt pretty bad.”

“Pidge!”

“I’m not going to  **lie** to him, Hunky!”

“This is maybe not the time to bring that all up though!”

“Yeah, except he  **asked** so I’m going to answer, and I’m not going to  **lie** to my friend!”

“Guys?”

“You could have just said that he didn’t hit her or whatever! Explain the rest after he’s had some time to process!”

“Guys??”

“If I did that, he wouldn’t trust me afterwards, though!”

“Guys! I’m right here!” Lance barked, clapping his hand over his mouth when the words came out much more harshly and loudly than he’d intended. Clearing his throat, he tried for a calmer tone and volume. “What did I say to Allura?”

“Ummm… you… uh…” His dark complexion meant that it was usually hard to see Hunk’s blushes. But, this time, Lance could see how his cheeks flushed and his ears got heated, the warm brown taking on a burgundy undertone the way cherry wood did when it was stained. “You told her that you could never fall in love with her. You didn’t want to-”

“-because you were already in love with someone else.” Pidge squeezed his hands, reminding him that she was still holding him. Reminding him that they were both offering him comfort and support despite his apparent assholery the night before. 

Still, what she was saying made no sense. He’d liked Allura for  **ages** , there was no way he would have ever rejected her like that! And the whole ‘already in love with someone else’ thing was just… he’d  **know** if he was in love with someone! 

He wasn’t in love with anyone!

_ “...never felt like this before…” _

_ “... don’t understand how you can make me feel like this…” _

_ “....can’t believe I found you…” _

He’d know,  **right** ??

“Lance?” Pidge’s voice sounded so far away. “Lance, you need to stay calm… and I really need you to answer this next question as honestly as you can… Lance? Who is Keith?”

The name made something inside of him kind of **light up**.

For an instant, he was filled with giddy joy...

...and then memories slammed into him like a rogue wave and pulled him under.


End file.
